By John Nathan
2 min read
George is the enemy within. He is a Polish Jew taking refuge in London in 1942. And he is gay.
Against the historical backdrop of Hitler's atrocities, and, closer to home, the celebrated trial of 20 Welshmen from Abergavenny for homosexuality, George struggles as a songwriter. But he manages to retain his resolve and ambition.
Miss Nightingale takes its title from his work partner, Maggie, a rags-to riches showgirl, but it is George (Ilan Goodman), who writes her songs, who is very much the star of the show.
In some ways he is the alter ego of its composer and choreographer, Matthew Bugg, who crafts and directs a clever, thoughtful and entertaining mini-musical in this, his debut as a writer.
It features a tangled love triangle, and is cheeky and spirited in parts, dark and troubling in others.
Bugg demonstrates sensitivity and pathos not just in the music, his home territory, but also in the twists and turns of the plot, and the dialogue.
The air-raid siren wails and we are transported to the shadowy burlesque world of the war-torn West End.
There is a tiny stage with a tiny cast - just three actors plus a piano, trumpet and double bass - and cabaret-style tables and chairs replacing some of the seats.
George and Maggie, an East End nurse and would-be singer, have suffered a string of rejections as they try to break into showbusiness. But they suddenly find favour with Sir Frank Connor, an aristocratic nightclub owner.
He makes a star of Maggie (the marvellously named burlesque artist Amber Topaz) - reinventing her as Miss Nightingale, and spices it up for the gossip columnists with tales of a torrid romance between the two of them. But the affair is a sham - and Sir Frank's real passion is not for her but a forbidden love for George.
Maggie can live with a proposed marriage of convenience with Sir Frank for the sake of stardom, but George cannot abide the double standards of the day, which would require him to pose as Sir Frank's butler rather than lover.
Maggie's solo, This Can't Be Love, is not just a catchy number. It is the motif of the play. Two men and a woman all yearning for the thing they cannot have. The song is reprised later as a lament for all three characters.
This was a little gem of a show, miniature in many ways, but not in scope, depth, or achievement. There are passionate performaces across the board - a good deal of empathy comes from Ilan Goodman, himself Jewish and gay, playing a character who lost all his family in the Holocaust and wants to bring a "little bit of Berlin to Blighty".
Topaz - small stature, huge grin - is mesmerising as Miss Nightingale. She relishes the intimacy of the venue, a far cry from her lead roles in Les Miserables in the West End.
And Richard Shelton – a keen jazz singer who has played at Ronnie Scott's – is every bit the British gent as Sir Frank with a charming veneer that masks his inner turmoil.
'Miss Nightingale' is now at the King's Head, London N1